शत

to a simple nothing

i was bound

i wasn’t lost,

i was just being not found

until i cupped

that far distant sound

began retracing threads

long since wound

a piece of you six hundred of me

six hundred parts of me to see

six hundred pieces and none of it free

six hundred little pieces of me

i refused to acknowledge

that distant hark

as i traced each thread

to the edge of the dark

then i sat there and waited

for that tiny spark

under faint illuminations

i left my mark

six hundred versions for me to be

six hundred excuses and reasons to flee

six hundred bits that got in there to see

then six hundred more; maybe, just for me